Go west, young man” was the advice given by the editor of the New York Times to young Americans in the 19th century, as the frontier advanced across the great planes and mountain ranges to reach the Pacific. In the 1950s, the journey west to the Atlantic coast of Cornwall did not involve quite the same level of pioneering spirit and unknown danger, but to a small boy in love with railways, it still felt like an epic adventure.For weeks I would be counting the days with mounting excitement until the moment finally arrived, the cases were packed, and we were off at last.
The modern traveller might well ask what could possibly be so special about a long and tedious rail trip when the main reason for taking it was probably to avoid the even more tedious drive? Surely nobody in their right mind would choose to spend their day in an uncomfortable train when they could be doing something more rewarding? I will attempt to answer that question.
My childhood home was in Sussex and EMUs were the norm when travelling by train. Anything that ran on rails appealed to me, but they were the same at both ends and had no locomotive at the front, so not particularly exciting to a child whose favourite toy was his Hornby train set, complete with clockwork steam engine.
However, summer holidays were different.They involved making the long trip to the Cornish coast by steam. After a short bus ride to Hassocks station with quantities of luggage, including the family cat in its basket, we caught the familiar electric train to Brighton.
The adventure begins...
There was a mounting sense of excitement as we passed the engine sheds with their lines of steam locomotives ready for service. As we drew into the terminus, there waiting for us under its impressive overall roof was the cross-country service to Plymouth, and sitting at the head of a long line of coaches would be a
